Mira's gaze lingered on Alex for a long moment before she finally smirked, flicking the dagger on the table idly with her fingers. The gesture seemed casual, but Alex had seen enough by now to know that nothing she did was without purpose.
"You're full of surprises," she said, her voice carrying an edge of amusement, though her eyes never lost their sharpness. "Varen didn't mention what the message was about, did he?"
Alex shook his head. "He just looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin."
Mira's smirk widened. "That's because Varen plays both sides. He's a snake who sells information to anyone willing to pay. Someone found out."
Alex folded his arms, keeping his expression neutral. "And you wanted me to see how he'd react."
"Smart." She nodded. "I needed to know if he was worth keeping alive."
"And?"
Mira leaned back in her chair, tapping her dagger against the wood. "We'll see."
Alex exhaled, settling into his seat. The job had gone as well as it could, but the unease from earlier still clung to him. The abyss, the way his body had moved without his permission—the way the man had simply vanished.
He clenched his jaw, pushing the thoughts aside.
"So what happens now?"
Mira studied him, her expression thoughtful. "That depends. You handled yourself well, but you're still an unknown. And in this city, unknowns don't last long."
"I'm willing to change that."
Mira's smirk returned. "That's what I like to hear." She reached into her coat and pulled out a small leather pouch, sliding it across the table toward him.
"Your payment. Welcome to Riverend."
Alex picked up the pouch. The weight of it wasn't much, but it was the first time he had anything in this world that was his.
He loosened the drawstring slightly and peered inside—a handful of silver coins. Not enough to change his situation, but enough to eat, to sleep somewhere that wasn't the street.
But food and shelter weren't enough. He needed more—a place in this city, a purpose, control over himself.
Control over whatever was inside him.
The tavern had started to empty out. Mira had lost interest in him for now, already turning her attention to something else. Alex took that as his cue to leave.
The night air was cold against his skin as he stepped onto the street. Riverend had a different kind of energy after dark. The open commerce of the day had faded, replaced by hushed conversations, figures lingering in shadowed doorways, the occasional distant shout.
He had no destination, but he needed to move.
Walking helped him think.
The city was sinking. The Duke was losing power. The Blackfangs were getting bolder. The people of Riverend were either bracing for something or too tired to care.
And then there was him.
The abyss hadn't left him. It was still there, beneath his skin, a slow, pulsing thing he couldn't ignore. What had he done to that man? How had he done it?
He had felt his body shift before his mind caught up. The way he had moved, the way the abyss had answered him—it wasn't natural.
The worst part wasn't the power itself.
It was the lack of control.
Alex exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He needed rest. He needed food.
He needed a plan.
As he wandered through the Lower Districts, the scent of pipe smoke and cheap ale pulled him toward a smaller tavern nestled between two aging buildings. This one had no sign, no flickering lanterns to welcome travelers. It was just a doorway, dark and unassuming, but the murmur of voices inside told him everything he needed to know.
He stepped through the entrance.
The air was thick with smoke, the scent of old wood, damp stone, and spilled liquor. Unlike the Whispering Den, this wasn't a place for silent deals and unseen threats—this was where people came to disappear, to forget.
Alex made his way toward the bar, his movements deliberate. He wasn't being watched the same way he had been in the Whispering Den, but there was always a kind of awareness in places like this.
A woman leaned against the counter, her hooded cloak draped loosely over her shoulders. She turned slightly as he approached, her gaze sharp beneath the shadows of her hood.
"Another newcomer," she mused, her voice carrying the kind of amusement that was half-interest, half-dismissal. "Riverend has no shortage of those lately."
Alex took the seat beside her. "Seems like a good place to start fresh."
The woman chuckled. "Fresh? No one starts fresh here. You either come running from something… or looking to take something."
Alex didn't argue.
She took a slow sip of her drink. "I'm Elise."
"Alex."
Elise tilted her head slightly. "And what is it you're looking for, Alex?"
Alex hesitated for only a moment. He could ask for information, but he had already learned enough from Roderic. He needed something more immediate.
"A room," he said. "Somewhere to sleep for the night."
Elise studied him, her gaze unreadable. She was weighing something, considering.
Then she nodded toward the far end of the room. "Talk to the innkeeper. If you've got coin, you've got a place to sleep."
Alex reached into his pouch and ran his fingers over the coins inside. He didn't know how long they would last, but he had no choice.
He nodded. "Thanks."
Elise smirked. "Don't thank me yet. You might not like what you wake up to."
Alex took the advice for what it was worth and pushed away from the bar.
The room was small and smelled of damp wood and old fabric, but it was a bed. The mattress was thin, the blanket scratchy, but it was better than the street.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he let himself collapse into sleep.
It wasn't peaceful.
The abyss waited for him in his dreams.
The morning came too soon. Light seeped through the cracks in the wooden shutters, casting uneven lines across the floor. His body still ached, his shoulder sore from the knife wound, but it was the sensation beneath his skin that disturbed him the most.
The abyss was still there. Watching. Waiting.
Alex dressed quickly and made his way downstairs. The tavern was quieter in the early hours, most of the previous night's patrons either gone or unconscious at their tables.
Elise was waiting at the bar, swirling a small glass of dark liquid between her fingers. She gave him a smirk as he approached.
"Still alive?"
Alex sat beside her. "For now."
She chuckled. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one people get before they do something stupid."
Alex exhaled. She wasn't wrong.
She tilted her head slightly. "I've got an answer for you."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."
Elise leaned in slightly. "Ever hear of the Fighting Pits?"
Alex's interest sharpened.
She smirked. "Thought so. Follow me."
~
The pits were buried deep beneath the Lower Districts, hidden beneath an unremarkable storage house near the docks. From the outside, the building was nothing more than a forgotten husk—a skeletal frame of rotting wood, rusted iron doors hanging slightly off their hinges, its walls sagging from years of neglect. People passed it without a second glance, unaware of the beating heart of violence that lurked beneath.
Inside, the air changed.
The moment Alex followed Elise down the narrow stone corridor, he felt the weight of the place. The air was thicker, hotter, charged with something primal. The walls were slick with condensation, a mixture of damp stone, sweat, and old blood forming a scent that clung to his skin. With each step, the distant rumble of voices grew louder—not just voices, but something wild, feral, a sound that felt more like a living thing than a crowd. The deeper they descended, the more intense the heat became, as if the earth itself was exhaling.
Then, they stepped into the arena.
It was unlike anything Alex had ever seen.
The pit stretched out in front of him—a massive, circular stone coliseum, the fighting floor carved deep into the ground and enclosed by jagged metal fencing. Above it, tiered wooden stands groaned under the weight of the spectators, packed shoulder to shoulder, roaring with savage anticipation. The flickering torchlight lining the walls cast long, erratic shadows, warping the fighters below into monstrous shapes as they circled each other.
It was brutal. It was raw. And it was alive.
At the center of the pit, two warriors faced off, their bodies marked with old scars, their postures unwavering. They weren't just men—they were veterans of survival, hardened by battle, forged in pain. But it wasn't just the way they moved, the sharpness in their eyes, or the raw tension in their muscles that set them apart.
It was something else.
A force Alex could see.
Feel.
The first warrior, a broad-shouldered brute wielding a massive battle axe, exuded an overwhelming, crushing presence. A faint red aura rippled around him, shimmering across his body like a heatwave. His grip on his weapon tightened, thick veins bulging against his skin, and with every breath, the aura flared, like a furnace stoking itself for war.
His opponent, a lean swordsman with sharp, piercing blue eyes, was his opposite in every way—calm, unreadable, effortless. His blade gleamed under the torchlight, but it wasn't the weapon that caught Alex's attention. It was the way the air around him shimmered, the silver light dancing across his skin, moving with him like a second layer of existence.
Then, they moved.
The axe fell first, descending with a force that could split stone.
But the swordsman was already gone.
He twisted, shifting just enough for the weapon to miss him by a hair's breadth, its impact sending a crack through the stone beneath them. Dust and debris erupted from the ground, but the blue-eyed swordsman never faltered. He flowed like water, slipping past the brute's guard with terrifying precision, his blade flashing in the torchlight.
The crowd exploded as steel met steel.
The clash sent a shockwave through the pit, rattling the cage. The red aura surrounding the axe-wielding fighter pulsed, absorbing the worst of the impact. The silver glow of the swordsman pulsed in return, making his movements impossibly fast, impossibly smooth.
This wasn't just skill.
It was power.
Alex's breath hitched, his pulse thundering in his ears.
A whisper curled through his mind.
Essence.
The word sent ice through his veins.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes locked on the fighters.
Elise leaned casually against the railing, her gaze disinterested, yet knowing. "That?" she mused, barely sparing him a glance. "That's Essence. The difference between a man and a monster."
She flicked her fingers toward the pit. "Every living thing has it, but only some learn to use it. The best fighters? They don't just fight. They become something more."
Alex swallowed, his hand clenching involuntarily.
The energy humming beneath his skin—the abyss—it felt the same.
Elise smirked, noticing his expression. "Thinking of signing up?"
Alex exhaled slowly. He needed to know.
"Maybe."
Elise chuckled. "You wouldn't be the first fool to try."
Signing up was simple.
The man at the wooden desk barely looked up, his scarred hands flipping through a tattered ledger. His one good eye roved over Alex, unimpressed.
"New blood, huh?" His voice was rough, like stones scraping against each other.
Alex nodded.
The man shrugged. "You'll start low. Just don't die too quick."
The preparation chamber reeked of old sweat and dried blood. Metal bars divided it into sections, keeping the fighters separate before their turn in the pit.
His opponent was already waiting.
A wiry man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, his grin sharp and full of teeth.
"Another idiot hoping to get rich?" the man sneered. "Hope you can at least put up a fight."
Alex didn't respond.
He wasn't here to talk.
He had no idea how this would go.
The gate rattled open.
The roar of the crowd swallowed him whole.
His opponent moved first.
Fast. Too fast.
A fist slammed into Alex's ribs.
Pain exploded through his side, forcing him backward.
Before he could process it, another strike came for his face.
He barely dodged.
His opponent grinned.
"Slow."
A sharp blow to the shoulder sent him reeling.
He hit the ground.
The crowd jeered.
Pain pulsed through his ribs, his head, his entire body. He had felt this before. This helplessness.
No.
Not this time.
A whisper curled through his mind.
You are not weak.
His breathing slowed. His muscles coiled.
The next punch came—but this time, he saw it.
Everything snapped into focus.
His arm shot up, catching his opponent's wrist.
The man's eyes widened.
"What the—"
Alex twisted.
His opponent stumbled.
Alex struck.
A punch to the ribs—the same spot he had been hit.
The man grunted, doubling over.
The abyss stirred inside Alex.
Guiding him. Feeding him knowledge.
His movements became sharper, instinctive.
His opponent lunged again—but this time, Alex was faster.
He ducked, slipped past the punch, then drove a brutal elbow into the man's jaw.
A knee to the stomach.
A crack of bone.
His opponent collapsed.
The crowd erupted.
Alex stood over him, his breath steady, his heartbeat slow.
The gate rattled open.
As he stepped out, the old man at the desk smirked.
"Didn't expect you to win."
Alex didn't answer.
His mind still buzzed with the feeling of control.
The abyss had given him something.
Reflexes. Knowledge. Power.
He clenched his fist.
This was just the beginning.